Breaking the Rules
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Tony should know better than to try and hide injuries from Gibbs. Not much in the way of plot. Just an excuse for some hurt/comfort between DiNozzo and Gibbs. Rated K plus for a bit of swearing.
1. A Side of Pissed Off Boss

Disclaimer: I own nothing of, or relating to, NCIS. Just having a bit of fun.

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**Breaking the Rules**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

Tony DiNozzo stripped out of his crumpled, bloodied clothing, tossing it all in a pile in the corner of his bathroom. Studiously ignoring his battered image in the mirror, he hobbled into the shower, groaning in both pain and pleasure as the hot water sluiced down his too-sore body. Ducking under the spray, he yelped, the water stinging his black eye and split lip. Some days it didn't pay to be a cop, any kind of cop. Today had been one of those days.

Bad eye pummeled closed and good eye shut against the cascade; he blindly reached for the soap to tend the task of washing away the grime still clinging to his skin. As he gingerly, very gingerly, lathered, Tony thought about the last few hours. Gibbs was going to kill him when—no, IF—he found out how injured Tony truly was. The younger man had no intention of letting him find out. He'd spent the better part of the last two hours hiding much of it while typing up his reports on his run in with, and subsequent arrest of, Spencer Dugan, the man they'd been hunting for the better part of a month. A seat behind a desk and the distraction of two co-workers had helped him maintain the illusion. He'd waited for McGee and Ziva to leave for the day then snuck out of NCIS headquarters when Gibbs got called serendipitously to MTAC. He took a cab home and made his way ever so slowly to his apartment.

Despite his cautious movements, his fingers found a particularly painful spot along his ribs and he gasped then cursed as stars sparkled before his eyes. Palm flat against the tiles, he worked to recover his breath and equilibrium.

The doorbell chose that moment to ring soliciting another curse. Figuring it was his neighbor, Mrs. Genosa, who'd probably heard him come home and was now bearing a plate of the most delicious Italian food this side of Italy, he poked his head out from behind the curtain and yelled, "Just a minute!" The yell was a ghost of its usual exuberance and it cost him as his injuries protested.

Tony haphazardly rinsed and stepped from the shower; barely whisking away any moisture before stepping into the pair of careworn sweatpants he'd left waiting. Mrs. Genosa would have to forgive his bare chest. Very gently toweling his hair, he hobbled from the bathroom as the bell rang again. "I'm coming," he muttered under his breath.

Fully expecting Mrs. Genosa, Tony was already speaking when he opened the door. "Hey, Mrs. G., what's on the menu tonight?"

"How about an ass-kicking with a side of pissed off boss?" Leroy Jethro Gibbs growled.

"Gibbs!" If Tony's voice had a bit of a squeak to it, both men pretended not to hear it. DiNozzo plastered a huge, utterly fake, smile on his face and tightened his grip on the door as a wave of dizziness swept over him. "I mean, hey Boss, what're you doing here?"

Gibbs crossed the threshold and glared. "You think I wouldn't know?"

"Uhh, know what?" bluffed Tony as he shuffled behind Gibbs into the center of the room.

The glare became a full on scowl. Gibbs leaned in close, icy blue eyes assessing. "Did you think I wouldn't know you broke rules 101 through 1000?"

DiNozzo's sluggish mind tried to place exactly what rules these might be but he came up blank. "Um, I don't…I mean…I…"

"Never hide an injury from me," Jethro's gaze surveyed his senior field agent, "Sound familiar? You've hidden plenty just today…"

"But…"

"Sit down."

"I'm…"

"Sit down, Agent DiNozzo," the command in Gibbs' voice was unmistakable, "before you fall down."

Also unmistakable was the concern under the gruffness. Tony complied and lowered himself slowly into a chair, leaning awkwardly to take pressure off his sore ribs. "I'm fine, you know. It's just bruises and…" The doorbell rang before he could continue his blithe litany.

"If you move an inch, you're not gonna be a happy camper, DiNozzo." Gibbs stalked off to answer the door.

Tony had a sneaking suspicion who it would be crossing his threshold next and it was confirmed when he heard the Scotsman's voice. _Ducky. Shit. I'm in for it now._

"Anthony! What a disappointment to find you had snuck away like a thief in the night without me examining you first."

"Ducky, I…"

"Did you _really_ think you'd get away with it?" He made a _tsking_ sound low in this throat. "I _told_ Jethro not to let you out of his sight." Dr. Mallard tossed a reproving glance in Gibbs' direction. "Next time I suggest handcuffs. Now, let's have a look, shall we?"

"It's just…"

"DiNozzo."

Tony sighed. "Fine. Have at it, Dr. Mallard." He straightened as much as he could and leaned back, reluctantly submitted to Ducky's examination. It wasn't long before the doctor's fingers pressed a darkly bruised spot on his belly that had Tony gasping. A wave of nausea crept over him.

"Holy shit, doc. What the hell?" Sweat beaded Tony's upper lip.

Ducky's brow furrowed in concern. He glanced between his patient and Gibbs. "I think young Anthony here needs to be in hospital."

"Hospital?" groaned DiNozzo, "No way. C'mon, cuts and bruises…maybe a little concussion…"

"Duck?"

"Listen here, young man. You have some rigidity in your abdomen. Now it could just be bruising, but it could also be a slow bleed. I've no way of telling here, and I'd rather we not find that out the hard way."

"Let's go then," Gibbs responded before Tony could say anything at all. "I'll drive."

"No," instructed Dr. Mallard as he rose, "I'd prefer we call an ambulance. As a precaution…"

"Ambulance? Uh uh." DiNozzo shook his head and attempted to rise but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

Ice blue eyes met green. "Tony." That was it. Just his name. But DiNozzo heard the order. He sighed in defeat. "Fine. Ambulance it is."

It wasn't long before the rescue squad arrived and the paramedics were wheeling Tony out his door and down the steps, Ducky hot on their heels. Just before they loaded him into the back of the waiting vehicle, he locked his gaze on Gibbs and said, "So how much trouble am I in for breaking rules 101 through 1000?"

"Let me think about it and I'll let you know," Gibbs replied. One of the paramedics moved to close the back doors. "Take good care of him," he ordered.

The man gave him a thumbs up. "You know it."

TBC...

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**A/N:** Many people asked so kindly for this story to be continued that I decided to go ahead and write a second chapter, which I'm currently in the midst of doing. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed this one so much they want more. It shouldn't be too long a wait.


	2. Taking a Turn

**A/N: ** So many people asked kindly for this story to be continued that I decided to go ahead and write more. I tried to be as true to medical issues as I possibly could through some research and asking of questions. Any medical mistakes are mine and mine alone.

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Tony blinked lazily at the lights above him, the vibration of the moving ambulance reminding him how much he hurt all over. He let his mind drift; contemplating what "punishment" he'd receive from Gibbs. His musing was interrupted by Paramedic John Lawrence.

"How're you feeling, Agent DiNozzo?" The medic inflated the BP cuff snugged around Tony's upper arm.

DiNozzo rolled his head toward the paramedic, peering up at him through his one good eye. "Tony."

"Okay then. Tony. How're you doing?"

DiNozzo wiggled the arm currently sporting an IV cannula. "Wishing my boss wasn't so…uh…_bossy_. I can't believe they're making me go to the hospital."

"They're just being cautious."

"Overreacting you mean. I've had worse."

"I bet. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"Umm…head, eye, lip…ribs. It was a hell of a fight but like they say, you should see the other guy…" Tony chuckled, sort of, and immediately regretted it as his pain receptors lit up, careening toward neon.

A slight frown ghosted over John's face as he interpreted the BP reading. "Does your belly hurt?"

"Nah," a shiver wracked Tony's frame, "well, yeah maybe. I dunno, everything kinda hurts right now." Another shiver followed his words.

"You cold?"

"Yeah, a little."

John pulled a trauma blanket from within one of the small cabinets and draped it over Tony. "Better?"

"Mmm hmm."

John clipped a pulse oximeter onto Tony's index finger, noticing immediately the elevated pulse. He reached up and adjusted the flow of IV fluid.

From out of nowhere there came a loud screech of tires and the ambulance suddenly jerked violently to the right. Momentum carried John away from Tony and the gurney. A moment later, the emergency vehicle lurched when a front tire encountered a particularly large pothole. Catching himself with a hand on the wall, the paramedic flinched when his forehead connected with the corner of a cabinet. Righting himself at the same time the ambulance corrected course, he shouted to his partner, "Jay, what the hell?"

"Sorry, man, some crazy ass almost hit us. Missed us by an inch. Guess lights don't mean a thing."

John returned to DiNozzo's side, eyes automatically surveying his patient. DiNozzo had his eyes screwed shut, and he was pasty white. "Tony? Tell me what's going on." John began checking vital signs.

"Hurts," Tony gasped.

"What hurts? Belly? Ribs?"

Tony started to respond but speaking suddenly seemed to take too much energy. He managed a nod as his vision grayed at the edges. Ambient sound became a low buzz and for a bit time lost all meaning.

Finishing the vitals, John called, "Jay, put a little more lead in it."

_(NCIS) (NCIS) (NCIS)_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs strode across the ER waiting room with single-minded purpose. Ducky followed at a slower, but no less purposeful, pace. Gibbs stopped at the currently unmanned Admissions Desk. Impatiently tapping his fingers on the counter, he muttered, "Where the hell is everybody?"

"Jethro, take a deep breath. We've only been here 30 seconds. I'm sure someone will be here momentarily." As if his words conjured her, the receptionist slipped through a doorway leading to a room behind the desk. "Now, see there, my boy—just like I said."

"May I help you?"

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. He was brought in about ten or fifteen minutes ago in an ambulance."

"Sir, I'm sorry but I…"

"Don't give me any of that HIPAA crap either. I'm listed as his next of kin," Gibbs' all but growled, leaving the receptionist looking taken aback.

"Jethro!" scolded Ducky, "No need to bark at the poor girl. Don't mind him, dear lady, he is merely worried. He is indeed Anthony's next of kin—Leroy Jethro Gibbs—and I am listed as one of the young man's doctors, Donald Mallard. Perhaps we can get an update on Agent DiNozzo?"

The young woman smiled at Ducky. "If you'll just take a seat right over there, I'll see what I can find out." She pointed to a small alcove filled with chairs.

Gibbs headed toward the chairs but didn't sit, choosing instead to cross his arms and lean against the wall. Taking his cue from his old friend, Ducky also leaned against the wall.

In a rare moment of openness, Gibbs muttered, "I hate when he does this, Duck. Walls himself off. Goes to ground…"

Ducky's mouth tilted up at the corner. "Sounds like someone else I know."

Jethro shot a mock glare at his friend and colleague. "That's different."

The doctor chuckled ruefully and shook his head. "Of course it is."

"He's not going to change, is he?"

"Doubtful. You know our Anthony. A jumble of walls and masks. A master of deflection bolstered by the deeply ingrained, but wholly needless yet inescapable, fear of rejection."

"That's what I thought." Gibbs straightened and rubbed his eyes. "I need some coffee."

"I do believe there is a coffee stand just down the hallway. You wait here; I'll bring you back a cup."

"Duck, you don't ha—"

The good doctor waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, I know very well I don't have to. When has that ever stopped me?" Ducky hurried off to find the coffee stand.

While Ducky was gone, Jethro paced the length of the little alcove. Self-recrimination gave his feet wings. The fingers on each hand curled into fists as he fought the urge to punch something. He knew Tony, knew his habits, his masks and still he'd let the injured younger man endanger himself by sneaking home. Gibbs sighed and slowly unclenched his fingers, running them through his graying hair. He debated whether to call Abby, Tim, and Ziva ultimately deciding to wait until he had further information.

From the offset alcove, Gibbs let his gaze roam the sparsely populated waiting room, resting briefly on each occupant. None of them looked critical but looks could be deceiving. He wondered for a split second if any of them were as worried about someone as he was about Tony, as he would be about any of the team he commanded, but the room lacked that critical, humming tension.

It was a passing thought as Ducky returned then with his coffee. Jethro nodded his thanks and quickly took a sip, surprised when the brew turned out to be downright drinkable, though, under the circumstances, he would've still drank it had it been otherwise. Movement from the doorway caught his attention, and he looked up to see a doctor clad in blue scrubs but minus the white coat enter, her expression serious if not grim.

"You're here for Anthony DiNozzo?"

TBC…

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A/N: Okay, so yeah, it turns out this is going to have a third chapter. Hope no one's too disappointed in that.


	3. Recalcitrance

"We are," stated Gibbs as he stepped forward, "How is he?"

"I'm Dr. Nead. Mr. DiNozzo came in with a number of serious injuries. We're trying to stabilize him now—"

"_Trying_ to stabilize him? What does that mean? He seemed like he was doing okay."

"Jethro," admonished Ducky, "let the poor woman speak."

"His condition deteriorated in the ambulance on the way here. We're working to stabilize him now and determine if he needs surgery."

"Oh, dear," interjected Ducky, "as I feared, there's internal bleeding then?"

The doctor shot him a quizzical look.

"Dr. Donald Mallard. I'm a Medical Examiner at NCIS but periodically am called upon as triage officer when it comes to some of our more stubborn, if not contrary, agents."

Dr. Nead offered a little smile and nodded in understanding. "Well, you made a good call on this one doctor. It appears that trauma to the abdomen has caused some internal bleeding. We'll know more once we do a peritoneal lavage. As I said, we're trying to stabilize him; however, Mr. DiNozzo's a bit uncooperative."

"I knew I should've ordered him not to give you a hard time," Gibbs muttered in his customary growl.

Now it was his turn to be treated to a quizzical look from Dr. Nead. "Ordered him?"

"I'm his boss," Jethro said as if that explained everything. Then his steely gaze softened. "And his friend—"

"More like a father really," interjected Ducky, an ever-so-innocent expression on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Gibbs continued, "I also know how much DiNozzo loathes hospitals."

Dr. Nead dipped her chin to her chest with a thoughtful look on her face. "That would explain some of his agitation though I suspect his concussion isn't helping matters in that respect."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor eyed Gibbs, a calculating look on her face.

Seeing the look, Ducky spoke. "I can assure you, my dear, young Anthony faces no true wrath as a consequence of said visit. I daresay you'll find that it helps."

She looked from one man to the other for a moment. Finally she nodded. "All right. This way."

Jethro handed Ducky his cup before following her from the waiting room.

The doctor led him through a set of double doors and down a corridor filled with curtained cubicles on each side. She stopped outside the second to last on the right, pausing ever so slightly before pulling the curtain aside.

Gibbs heard Tony before he saw him. A litany of unconvincing "I'm fines" peppered with a few pained curses greeted his arrival. One of the medical personnel stepped out of his line of sight allowing Jethro his first look at his senior field agent since the ambulance. The older man was shocked by how much worse Tony looked now than he had just a short while ago. Milk white, drawn, a nasal cannula in place under his nose, the younger man was moving restlessly on the gurney.

At Dr. Nead's nod of permission, Gibbs approached the examination table and barked, albeit softly, "DiNozzo!"

Tony stilled immediately, turned his head, gaze locking on his superior. "Boss! I don't need to stay. Tell them I don't need to stay."

"Do I look like a doctor to you, DiNozzo?"

"No, Boss, but…"

Jethro reached out and dropped a hand on Tony's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Then let them do their jobs. If they say you need to stay, you stay."

On some level, Tony knew he was being unreasonable, but that didn't stop him from opening his mouth to protest again, only to be derailed when a full-blown shudder wracked his frame. He dropped his head back, gasped, and swallowed hard. His gaze dropped, locked blankly on a far corner. Tony nodded once in acquiescence.

Gibbs squeezed his shoulder once more before stepping back. His own gaze sought out Dr. Nead. She stepped to the side and drew back the curtain for him to step through. "He's in good hands, Agent Gibbs. I'll update you as soon as I can."

Jethro returned to the waiting room, nodding at Ducky while dialing his cell phone. He quickly made three successive phone calls, speaking first with Abby then leaving messages for McGee and Ziva. When he finished, Gibbs drained his cup of coffee, grimacing at its chill, and tossed the cup into the trash.

"Where'd you say that coffee stand was, Duck?"

"Jethro, you should eat something—put something in your system besides that infernal caffeine."

"Worried about me, doctor?"

Ducky leaned back in his seat, a gentle smirk on his face. "Hardly—worried about ME actually. You're grouchy when all you've had all day is coffee."

Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his face and actually chuckled. "You've known me long enough to know I'm always grouchy."

"Ahh, touché as they say, my friend. However," Ducky rose to his feet, "I feel the need to eat. Therefore, I'm going to the cafeteria. What can I bring back for you?"

Figuring it was pointless to argue with the Scotsman, Gibbs muttered, "Just bring me a sandwich, I guess. Doesn't matter what kind. And coffee."

"As if I'd forget that," responded Ducky.

While the medical examiner was gone on his self-imposed humanitarian mission, Jethro sat, fiddled with his phone as he worried in silence about his senior field agent. He sighed in relief when Ducky returned, appreciating the company and support of his old friend. The food at least gave him something to do with his hands. He was halfway through his ham and cheese sandwich when Abby, in all her exuberant glory arrived. For all that exuberance, she was dressed in a rather subdued fashion for her—black jeans, a black t-shirt with cartoon skull sporting a pink bow, and low-heeled black boots. Her long, dark hair hung loose down her back.

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!" The forensic specialist barreled into him, pulled him into a hug. "How's Tony? I came as soon as I could!" Her words were garbled as she directed them into his gray sports coat. "I was helping Sister Rosita and the other nuns and they shooed me out when you called with the news. How's Tony? Tell me he's okay…"

Jethro grabbed Abby's shoulders and eased her backward. "Abby, Abby, take a breath—"

She did, inhaling deeply and letting it out in a gush that actually ruffled her bangs. She looked between Gibbs and Ducky. "How is he?"

"We're waiting to hear. The doctor should be out soon."

Abby threw her arms around Gibbs again. "He didn't tell anybody he was hurting! He said it was just a black eye and split lip!"

"I know, Abs, I know."

"You just wait—I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind! When he's all better I mean. I wouldn't yell at him now, of course. 'Cause that's like kicking a dog who's just lost his best friend…"

"Abs!"

"Sorry, Bossman. I worry when I ramble—I mean, I ramble when I worry."

Someone gently clearing their throat interrupted the tableau. Three pairs of eyes swung toward the doorway and locked on Dr. Nead as she walked closer.

"His peritoneal lavage was positive for blood in the abdomen. At this point, given his hypotension and the extensive bruising on his left side, our standard procedure is to assume it's a ruptured spleen. We're sending Agent DiNozzo up to surgery immediately."

TBC…


	4. Waiting Game

DiNozzo blinked heavily at the ceiling, watching the florescent light fixtures whisk by as they rolled his squeaky-wheeled gurney toward the operating room. Though the fog of pre-op medication had settled over him, Tony was still scared. Despite all the reassurances that he'd be _just fine_, a gigantic ball of ice had settled in his gut, filling the exact spot where the earlier pain had burned. He felt the urge to verbalize his fears, both mundane and extraordinary, but his tongue felt thick and too clumsy to form words.

Once in the OR, the medical personnel transferred him from the gurney to the operating table with quick efficiency. He shivered in the cold air for a few moments before heated blankets were tucked around him. Tony felt someone position his arms perpendicular to his body.

A minute or so later, the anesthesiologist appeared just above his head. "All right, Tony, I'm going to place the mask over your mouth and nose. Just breathe normally, okay?"

Tony fought a brief flash of panic when the mask settled into place. The world narrowed to the suffocating feel of the restriction and the cool whoosh of air inside the mask.

"Now, starting with one hundred, begin counting backward for me."

"One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-sev…" A deep, endless darkness swallowed him.

_(NCIS) (NCIS) (NCIS)_

McGee found Gibbs, Ducky, and Abby—who was curled up against their team leader with her head on his shoulder—in the surgical waiting room just over an hour after he listened to the voice mail message from his boss. He strode into the room decked out in black pants, a white puffy-sleeved shirt, and a floor length scarlet cloak.

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow at the unusual get-up. "Something you need to tell us, McGee?"

"Boss?"

"I believe, Timothy, he is perchance referring to your rather dashing attire," supplied Ducky with a grin.

"Oh." McGee glanced down at his clothes. "OH! Sorry, Boss. I was at the Courtyard Washington Capitol Hill giving a lecture on…um…how hard-boiled detectives _can_ be swashbuckling heroes. I…uh…I forgot," Tim paused and cleared his throat, "forgot to change before coming…here." Cheeks flushed, McGee unbuttoned the fastener at his throat and dispensed of the cloak, rolling it into a ball and stashing it on one of the plastic chairs.

Straightening in her seat, Abby smiled and said, "Well, I liked it. It makes you look suave and mysterious. You should wear it more often."

McGee sank into the chair next to his discarded cloak. "How's Tony?"

"They took him to surgery forever ago," lamented the forensic specialist.

"Now, Abigail, it's only been a little over a half hour since they wheeled him to the surgical suite."

Abby pulled her knees upward, resting her feet on the edge of her seat, and dropped her chin to her knees. "Well, it seems like forever, Ducky!"

"I'm afraid, my dear, that we've a long while to go."

"Surgery? It's that bad?" inquired the junior field agent.

"Blunt trauma to the abdomen can be quite an enigma," intoned the medical examiner, "Get hit one way and it's nothing more than sore muscles and a nasty bruise; get hit another and it results in some form of internal bleeding, which is what's happened in young Anthony's case. Of course, there are a number of components to factor in—"

"Duck!" Gibbs growled to head off the foreseeable technical lecture.

"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I've taken a page from your book, Abigail. I do tend to ramble when I worry."

"It's okay, Duckman, it happens to all of us. Well, all of us except the silver-haired fox sitting next to me! He never rambles. He barely talks. In fact, I don't know what I'd do if he actually rambled in any way, shape, or form…"

"Abs!" This time Gibbs' growl held a distinct edge of exasperation.

Tim's gaze darted around the room. "So, where's Ziva?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Left her a voice mail." The MCRT team leader stood and stretched, grimacing as various joints popped. "I need some coffee."

Abby gracefully unfolded her body and sprang from the chair. "I'll come too! Do you think they have Caf-Pow around here anywhere?"

The corner of Jethro's mouth tilted upward in a slight grin. "I don't think so, Abs. You'll have to settle for something else."

"Red Bull! I can always get a Red Bull. If not, Mountain Dew. It's not perfect, but it'll do."

Putting a hand at the small of Abby's back and nudging her forward, Gibbs asked, "You guys want anything?"

Receiving a round of no's, they headed toward the door. Their leave-taking was interrupted, however, by the arrival of the last member of the team. Slightly breathless, Ziva nearly tripped through the door.

"Now I know why I do not routinely wear high-heeled shoes! They are truly instruments of torture!"

"Wow, Ziva, look at you!" exclaimed Abby. "I love that dress." The dress in question was a knee-length, form-fitting midnight blue with matching lace panels in some very strategic places. The torturous high-heeled shoes in question matched the dress.

"Thank you, Abby." Ziva kicked off the offensive footwear. "I am sorry it took me so long to get here. My mobile phone was off. I was at _Et Voila!_ on a date. Or more accurately _waiting_ for my date. He did not show. I got…uh…_propped_ up, yes?"

"Stood. Stood up," corrected McGee.

"Yes, well, I was checking my phone to see if the…uh…skunk?—no, weasel—if the weasel had left a message when I got the one you left about Tony. How is he?"

Ziva received the same update as McGee had just a short while before, minus Ducky's tendency toward tangential digression. She sank into a chair with a sigh. "I am shocked. He did not look that bad when we left the bullpen earlier. Did he, McGee?"

"No. Not to me. Black eye and a fat lip."

"Perhaps so," allowed Dr. Mallard, "but internal bleeding can be quite a slow and insidious thing. I daresay the poor boy didn't have a clue as to just how injured he really was."

"Ziva, Gibbs and I are going for coffee. You want anything?"

"No, I am good, Abby. It is kind of you to ask."

Jethro and Abby left the waiting room and headed down the corridor toward the nearest bank of elevators. The forensic specialist was subdued as they walked down the hallway. After a few moments, she asked, "Are you going to 'punish' Tony for breaking one of your rules?" The dark-haired Goth stopped mid-stride and spun on her heel. "I mean if he's okay. He is going to be okay, right Gibbs? 'Cause he has to be!"

Gibbs grabbed her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Yes. On both counts, Abby. I promise."

"Have you decided what it'll be?"

"Nope. Not yet."

They started walking again. "Hiding an injury's a big rule to break. Man, I still remember my punishment for breaking rule number fourteen—"

"Fifteen."

"Oh, right! Fifteen."

"What? You didn't like painting my backyard fence?"

"Of course, I liked it! But if I told you I _liked_ it then it wouldn't have been a successful Gibbs' _punishment_." Abby pushed the down button to summon an elevator car.

"Well, you did paint it purple with silver skulls on it. I think that gave me a clue, Abs."

"Creative, huh? It looked amazing when I got done with it."

Gibbs' blue eyes momentarily danced with amusement. "Mmm, yeah, it's a regular Abigail Sciuto masterpiece."

"So what're you going to do for, Tony?" The doors to one elevator car slid open and Jethro and Abby boarded.

Gibbs pushed the button for the first floor. "I've got one or two things in mind. Don't worry, Abs. The 'punishment' will fit the crime."

TBC…

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A/N: One chapter left to go, I think. A nice little epilogue to this tale. I'd LOVE to know what you guys thought of this chapter. Reviews are love. :-)


	5. News

Oops. I was very much mistaken. This didn't turn out to be the last chapter. Sorry about that.

I know my chapters are considered short by most standards, but that's what I'm comfortable writing. I apologize to those who find it irritating.

I extrapolated as much medical knowledge as I could from my research.

Hope y'all continue to enjoy.

Vanessa

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"_Tony? C'mon, now, hun. Time to wake up. Tony?"_

DiNozzo heard the voice summoning him from a great distance. On an instinctual level, he knew he needed to crawl across the endless black void to reach it, but Tony felt incredibly weary—too weary in fact to even try even if she did sound incredibly nice.

"_Time to wake up, Mr. DiNozzo. Come on—open those pretty eyes for me."_

He wanted to listen to the lilting voice calling for him, wanted desperately to open his eyes, even sensed it was somehow important to obey, but his eyelids felt leaden. As did his limbs. Even his fingers felt weighted. He swallowed then moaned slightly as even that was too much effort. Tony felt a light touch on his shoulder. The warmth felt good against his chilled skin.

"_His temp's at 35°C. He's shivering pretty hard. Let's get another blanket on him and add 10 milligrams of meperidine to his IV. Watch his O2 levels and heart rate. C'mon, Tony, open your eyes for me right now."_

The urge to comply, to leave behind this all-encompassing black void, had Tony struggling to pull his eyelids apart. Unfortunately, the minute he got them slit open, another sudden urge overshadowed all else as bile rushed up his esophagus. He moaned, unable to control the purge. Acidic bile inexorably pushed past his lips and some remote part of him was acutely embarrassed.

"_He's vomiting. Here, Tara—hold the emesis basin. Let's get some additional anti-emetics on board."_

Still weak and tired of fighting this seemingly impenetrable post-op fog, Tony quit fighting the black void and let it pull him back under.

_(NCIS) (NCIS) (NCIS)_

"The family of Anthony DiNozzo?" Dr. Craig Bryan inquired as he stepped into the surgical waiting room. He pulled off his elasticized cap and ran his fingers through his close-cropped dark hair. Five pairs of eyes immediately locked on him as he stopped just over the threshold. The gray-haired man with piercing blue eyes rose from his seat and approached.

Gibbs eyed the exhausted-looking doctor decked out in rumpled blue scrubs, attempted to read his body language. "I'm Jethro Gibbs, Tony's next of kin."

Dr. Bryan's gaze flicked to the other occupants of the room.

Seeing this, Gibbs announced, "His personal doctor and extended family." His commanding tone dared the doctor to argue.

"I'm Dr. Bryan, Anthony's surgeon. He's out of surgery and in the PACU."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "PACU?"

"The Post Anesthesia Care Unit."

"You mean the recovery room."

The corner of Craig's mouth ticked upward. "Yes, the recovery room."

"And?"

Ducky stood and walked to Jethro's side.

"I have good news. His injuries were actually less serious than we had anticipated. His spleen had a Grade Three laceration but was not ruptured, and we were able to oversew it. The rest of the internal bleeding came from three small lacerations to his mesenteric blood vessels which we were also able to repair."

"So he's going to be okay?" interjected Abby, worriedly twirling a strand of ebony hair around her finger.

"He should be fine," Dr. Bryan hesitated for a split second. "Once he leaves the PACU, we'll keep Tony in the ICU for 24 hours to closely monitor his hematocrit. If that remains stable, he'll then be moved to a stepdown unit where we'll continue to monitor his hematocrit for 48 hours. Barring any complications, he should be discharged after 72 hours."

Jethro noticed the hesitation and pounced on it. "You hesitated—there something you're not telling us doc?"

Craig rubbed the back of his neck. "They're having some trouble getting Tony to come around in the recovery room." The doctor held up a forestalling hand. "It's not uncommon. As of this moment, there is nothing to be overly concerned about."

Ducky nodded sagely. "General anesthesia can be terribly hard on one's body. Given Anthony's past health crises, this does not surprise me."

The surgeon nodded. "We are aware of Tony's unusual medical history. I can assure you we're keeping a close eye on him."

"Can I see him?" For all that it was a question from Gibbs, it sounded more like a demand.

"He'll be in recovery for a while yet and visiting hours are technically over…" Seeing a protest forming in Gibbs' suddenly stormy eyes, Craig hurried on, "but I will make special arrangements with the ICU staff.

The team leader nodded in satisfaction.

"I'll have the nurse come and get you once he's settled into ICU."

After a few final words of assurance and a dismissive nod, Dr. Bryan left. Gibbs turned to his team and scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. "You all can go on home."

A chorus of protests met his words.

"Do I need to make it an order? There's still work to be done in the morning, and there's nothing you can do here tonight."

"Quite correct, Jethro," Ducky gathered his hat and trench coat from where they were situated on an empty chair. "I believe I will do just as you suggest—after I have a quick word with the good Dr. Bryan." Ducky waved at the team and hurried from the room on his self-imposed mission.

Tim gathered his cloak while Ziva slipped her high-heeled shoes back on with a pained grimace. When she was done adjusting the straps, she looked at Gibbs and said, "You'll call us, yes? If anything should happen…"

"It won't," muttered Gibbs in a dictatorial tone. He did, however, dip his chin to his chest in a curt nod.

"Ziva, you don't have a coat," observed McGee as he and Ziva moved through the door "It's chilly out. Would you like my…uh…cloak to wear home?"

"Thank you for the offer, McGee, but I shall be fine…"

Their conversation died away as they moved farther down the hospital corridor.

Jethro turned his attention to the only remaining person in the room. "Abbs…"

"Can I stay? Please. Please. Please." The dark-haired Goth rocked back and forth on her feet. "Only until they come to tell you Tony's out of recovery! Pleeeease." Abby donned her best puppy dog expression, green eyes luminous. "I promise I'll drink an extra Caf-Pow in the morning so I'm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to work!"

Gibbs caved, as much due to Abby's puppy dog look as the fact that he quietly relished, and was grateful for, the Goth's continued company. "Just until the nurse shows then you go home and get some sleep." He gently pushed her into a seat and dropped down next to her. Abby's head immediately came to rest on his shoulder.

"You know, I wonder where that expression comes from—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed—I mean humans haven't had tails in like millions of years. But we obviously did once 'cause we all have tail bones…"

Jethro couldn't help it; he found himself chuckling. He dropped an arm around Abby's shoulders and pulled her close.

TBC…


	6. Onward, Jeeves

Well, here it is--the last chapter. Hope everyone enjoys!!

* * *

Tony roused to the disconcerting sensation of someone staring at him. It had happened three types so far since he'd come around in the recovery room and been moved to the ICU. Twice it had been the surgeon; the last a nurse, and it freaked him out each time. He reluctantly pried his eyes open, lethargy still pulling at him with an inviting seduction.

Turning his head, Tony blinked heavily and brought Gibbs into focus. "H-Hey, Boss…" he rasped around a tongue that felt far too thick.

"'Bout damn time, DiNozzo." The words were gruff but there was no mistaking the look of relief in Gibbs' eyes.

The senior field agent cleared throat and winced. "Sorry, Boss."

"Don't make me pull a stealth head slap."

A spoon containing an ice chip appeared in front of his lips, and Tony gratefully accepted the frozen moisture. He relished the cool, wet feel as it soothed his dry mouth and throat. A second ice chip followed the first without him even having to ask. Nodding in thanks, he shifted on the bed, felt the not-so-painful tug of his new incision. "Doesn't hurt—must have me on the good stuff, huh?"

"They do. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"So…how bad?"

"Bad enough. Lacerated spleen. Some major blood vessels too."

DiNozzo sighed out another apology, blearily toyed with the edge of the blanket. "I honestly didn't think it was bad, Boss. 'S not like I haven't tangled with lots of bad guys in my time."

"I know," Jethro conceded, "Things happen. Next time cut the BS afterward."

"I…will."

The pause was infinitesimal but Gibbs heard it and couldn't help but frown. It frustrated him to no end that his senior field agent was stoic to the point of madness when it came to his health. Yet, the former Marine could say little since he honestly was the exact same way. That still didn't mean he had to like it.

Tony's minute store of energy waned and his eyelids began to droop. He yawned. "Guess I can still expect some form of punishment for breaking a rule, huh?"

"Yep."

"Should I be scared?"

"Yep."

DiNozzo winced. Gibbs' so-called "punishments" were legendary. But they got their point across. He fell asleep with the affirmation ringing in his ears.

_(NCIS) (NCIS) (NCIS)_

Three days later Tony found himself sitting on the edge of his hospital bed awaiting discharge. He'd been dressed—in a pair of comfortable gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt—and ready to go for the better part of an hour but the hospital staff didn't seem to share his sense of expectant urgency. Neither did his ride away from this hated place—one Leroy Jethro Gibbs since he had yet to arrive.

Tony looked at the clock on the wall again and sighed grumpily. He rose with a soft grunt as the movement tugged at his incision and shuffled over to the window where he watched sullen, dark clouds roil and churn in the sky.

"Thinking of making a break for it?" came a gravelly voice from behind him.

DiNozzo startled and turned. "Yeah—I mean no, not through the window, just in general. Kinda wish they would hurry up with the paperwork, ya know Boss."

"Got it right here," Gibbs waved the couple of pieces of paper folded in his hand. "Ran into the nurse on her way toward your room."

The younger man's eyes lit up. "Good! Let's go then." Tony shuffled forward, bent slightly at the waist.

"Not so fast, DiNozzo. She went to get you a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair? I don't need…" Tony stopped mid-protest and sighed, "I know, hospital policy…" He continued to grumble under his breath as he eased down on the edge of the bed.

He handed Tony the papers. "Why don't you look these over while we wait? I already have."

DiNozzo scowled, knowing full well those last three words were a warning that he better not try to pull one over on Gibbs. He scanned the list of post op discharge instructions. His eyes went wide and he purposefully gasped dramatically. "Wait—no sex for six weeks?" he snarked. "So much for my health and wellbeing."

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

Tony continued to grumble. "No jogging, no sit ups, no heavy lifting. No driving for fourteen days. A low-residue diet? Man, I'm gonna go bat-shit crazy!"

A smirk blossomed on Jethro's face. "Well, Ducky would say you've got the low-residue diet down pat already. And, hey, it says you can take a walk every day. That oughta be fun."

It was DiNozzo's turn to roll his eyes. "Not helpin' here, Boss."

A Patient Care Technician arrived at that moment with the wheelchair. Tasting imminent freedom, the soon-to-be ex-patient gratefully stood, grabbed his turquoise-and-white drawstring plastic bag containing all his personal effects, and shambled to the wheelchair. When Gibbs' grabbed the handles and began pushing, Tony chortled, "Onward, Jeeves!" He smiled when he felt the tiniest head slap connect with the back of his skull.

_(NCIS) (NCIS) (NCIS)_

Tony eased down on his couch just managing to hold back a relieved groan. The drive home and subsequent journey up the stairs to his apartment had tired him out far more than he was willing to admit. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, for the moment luxuriating in all that was familiar. Eventually, he'd probably being going stir-crazy but for now he was beyond content.

"Coffee?"

DiNozzo's eyes popped open, gaze locking on his mentor. "I would kill for some good coffee! That stuff they make in the hospital is toxic." Tony bent forward preparing to stand. "I can make some."

"Stay. I'll find my way around the kitchen."

Tony nodded. "Coffee's in the cupboard by the fridge."

"You want something to eat?"

"Nah, they made me eat breakfast before they discharged me."

Gibbs strolled out of the living room toward the kitchen. Several minutes later the enticing aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled the apartment. Tony breathed deep, nearly salivating in anticipation. He was just on the edge of dozing off when Gibbs returned with two mugs.

"Here."

DiNozzo slowly straightened and accepted the mug of coffee, wrapping his fingers around the warm stoneware to absorb its heat. After a few sips, he glanced up only to find Gibbs staring at him intently. He cleared his throat. "Umm…so…I guess you've decided on a punishment, huh?"

"I have."

Abandoning his still-steaming mug on the coffee table, Tony swallowed hard and said, "Okay, let me have it."

Gibbs drank some more coffee, letting the silence roll on for a minute or two. Finally he spoke. "You know Ducky's orchids?"

"You mean those creepy flowers that look like they're from outer space?"

Gibbs tilted his head. "Those are the ones."

"What about them?"

"When you're completely recovered, you're going to help Dr. Mallard cultivate and grow them for a month."

Tony groaned. "Aw, no, c'mon Gibbs! I hate dirt. And plants. Seriously, I have a black thumb! Ask Abby, she'll tell you about her plant that I killed."

"Uh huh. Well, you better make sure one of your thumbs turns green real quick. Oh, and you know that orchid show Ducky attends every year? It's coming up soon. You're going to go with Ducky and sit at his table for both days of the show and for the final judging."

DiNozzo groaned again. It sounded like torture to him which, of course, was the point. He took a deep breath and let out a gusty sigh. "Okay, fine. Cultivate orchids, go to orchid show. Got it. I can do this."

Gibbs finished his coffee. "Oh, and DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"I don't want to see anything less than a blue ribbon for first place."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. _Yep, lesson learned._ "Got it, Boss. One blue ribbon for Ducky."

_**Fin**_


End file.
